


Anything

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables (TV 2018)
Genre: Angry Kissing, Derailing Javert, M/M, On The Barricade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 01:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17653790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: Javert opened his mouth, but nothing but a desperate laugh escaped him. Beneath him, Valjean was still at his mercy, his chest rising and falling. Javert could feel the heat of his body through his clothes.“Let me go,” Valjean said softly. “Just to save this boy. Then I’ll be yours. You have me already. I promise.”





	Anything

The shot was still echoing in Javert’s ears, the air of the taproom filled with dust and smoke. From outside came the reverberating thunder of cannons. He could hear shouts and screams. It was the final attack on the barricade; it would fall soon.

Javert knew all of these things, and yet he couldn’t force himself to move.

“Just go!” Valjean shouted.

The gun in his hand was still smoking. The shot he had fired had hit the ceiling.

Jean Valjean had fired into the air. Jean Valjean had cut the ropes that bound Javert with his knife—and then he had discharged his weapon into the air.

Which meant that he had disarmed himself in front of Javert at the very same moment.

“Go,” Valjean shouted again, his eyes going to the window as if he truly did not care about the presence of Javert in this room—Javert, who had hunted him all these years. Javert, who had come to the barricade to find him, and him alone.

With a roar of rage, Javert threw himself at Valjean.

A moment later, they were rolling across the floor.

Where was the knife? It was no longer in Valjean’s hand. Javert knew he needed to take hold of it, for with a weapon, he’d have the upper hand against this man whom he’d hunted for so long. And yet, for some reason, it was not the floor his hands reached out for.

Valjean groaned as they came to a halt, his shoulder hitting the post Javert had been tied to, hard enough to leave bruises. Frantically, Javert fisted Valjean’s shirt, baring his teeth as he shook the man beneath him.

“For God’s sake. You’ll die if you stay here,” Valjean groaned.

“What’s it to you? You should want me dead!” The words were little more than a growl. All reason had fled. The incessant thunder of gunfire outside had dimmed to a distant roar. All Javert could hear was the beating of his own heart as he stared down at Valjean.

How many years had passed since he’d last had him in his power?

“I don’t... I don’t want you dead.” Valjean sounded breathless. Then he grimaced. He raised one hand, so that Javert tensed—but only to wipe tiredly at his brow, which was stained by dust. “But I can’t do more for you. If you go, live. If you stay, die. I need to get back to—”

“Your revolution?” Javert laughed wildly. Wasn’t that what he’d said all along? Trust Jean Valjean to be in the thick of it.

Valjean shook his head. Dust particles were dancing in the air. There was dust in his hair, too.

“No,” he said quietly. “That’s not why I’m here. There’s a boy out there. A boy I’ve come to save, if I can. I fear it’s more likely that we’ll both die. But I had to try.”

“And you want me to believe that?” Javert could hear the derision in his own voice—but even so, he found to his utter shock that a part of him had started to believe Valjean.

To believe Jean Valjean! It was utter madness.

Javert opened his mouth, but nothing but a desperate laugh escaped him. Beneath him, Valjean was still at his mercy, his chest rising and falling. Javert could feel the heat of his body through his clothes.

“Let me go,” Valjean said softly. “Just to save this boy. Then I’ll be yours. You have me already. I promise.”

“Promise?” Javert bit back another despairing laugh. “When have your promises ever had any worth? Do you truly think I—”

“Anything,” Valjean said breathlessly. “Anything you want, I’ll do it. I won’t resist. But I have to—”

“No.” It felt as if something inside Javert was trembling, as if something momentous had shifted—like a ripple spreading through rocks when the earth began to quake.

Javert’s hands tightened in Valjean’s shirt. He was short of breath. The noise of the guns and canons had completely fallen away. All he could hear was the rapid thunder of his own heart.

And then he yanked Valjean up by his shirt, at the same moment as he leaned forward with a groan of despair.

When their mouths met, Javert kissed him with the same fury, more a bite than a kiss until Valjean gasped, helpless. Javert’s tongue slid into his mouth, taking, taking, taking until Valjean’s hands were at his shoulders, clutching at him, while Javert continued to furiously kiss him with all the greed of a starving man.

Valjean did not resist. Valjean, who was stronger than ten men, who could have easily killed him even without the knife, and who could have thrown him off even with the use of only one hand, had remained motionless beneath him, his mouth surrendering to Javert’s assault.

Little by little, Javert became aware of the sensation of Valjean’s breath, the warmth of his body, the way his hands had relaxed against his shoulders.

“Anything?” Javert said as he drew back.

It was a threat. He was almost entirely certain that he’d meant it as a threat. But the word escaped him as a rasp, breathless and hungry, and even beneath the dirt on Valjean’s face, Javert could see that a flush had begun to spread.

Valjean swallowed, then nodded silently. “Anything,” he repeated a moment later, his eyes wide and nervous, despite the way he’d gasped against Javert moments before. “I swear it.”

“Ha.” Javert exhaled, then moistened his lip. He could still taste Valjean, a sensation both unsettling and strangely sensual. “Do you.”

He realized all of a sudden that he was achingly erect. No wonder that Valjean had flushed. He must have been aware of it, with their bodies pressed so close. And yet, there, against his own thigh, he could feel that something in that assault had stirred Valjean as well…

Javert exhaled again, his lips twitching with disbelief. “I almost believe you. And that makes as little sense as you do.”

When he sat up, Valjean pushed himself up as well, looking shaken.

Then another cannonball hit the house, the ground trembling beneath them as the ceiling above them groaned. Dust came raining down on them—but for now, the ceiling held.

“Leave. There’s no time. Please,” Valjean said. “You have my address—Rue de l’Homme-Armé.”

“Number Seven. I won’t forget, Valjean.”

“No,” Valjean said quietly, still looking at him with that wide-eyed, shocked look that surely didn’t belong on a convict. “No, I don’t suppose you will.”

“Anything?” Javert asked again, not quite feeling like himself as he moved to his feet. It felt as if the earth was still tilting and turning beneath him, even though the cannons had fallen silent.

“Anything,” Valjean agreed.

This time, when Valjean met his gaze, Javert felt a possibility stretch before him, humming dangerously, like tautly stretched steel wire. Something inside him was still thrumming with a nervous energy, something that had become dislodged inside him and refused to calmly settle back in place where it belonged.

But that was all right, he thought as he stood there, gazing at Valjean. Soon enough, Valjean would be his. He wouldn’t run now.

And then... And then...

Javert could not think that sentence to its end.

Still. There was a report to write. A revolution to quell.

And if they were both standing at the end of this day, things would be settled between them once and for all. Somehow. Someway.

This wasn’t the end.


End file.
